


A Love Story in a Day (and Three Acts)

by Nepthys



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-11
Updated: 2008-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepthys/pseuds/Nepthys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Odd Couple</i>, Life on Mars -style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Love Story in a Day (and Three Acts)

***  
   
**Act 1 - Morning: 'Just what did your last slave die of?'**  
   
**8:23am**  
   
   
Sam yawned, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he sat down at the kitchen table. He poured milk over his cornflakes and unfolded the morning paper, leafing through it as he tucked into his breakfast, dimly aware of the background noises emanating from upstairs. A floorboard creaked, and a voice shouted down to him.  
   
"Oi, Gladys! Where's my toothbrush?"  
   
"In the bin. I bought you a new one: it's the green one on the shelf," Sam called back.  
   
He waited. The floorboard creaked again, then silence. He went back to his breakfast.   
   
The kettle had just boiled a few minutes later when Gene walked in, tying his tie. Sam didn't look up from the paper.  
   
"What was wrong with my old one?"  
   
"It looked like a dog had chewed it."   
   
Gene gave an exasperated huff as he busied himself making tea. "You know, just because you live here now doesn't mean you can throw away my things willy-nilly."  
   
"It does if they pose a health and safety risk."  
   
Gene just grunted. He plonked two mugs down on the table and took a seat opposite Sam, peering with evident distaste at the contents of his own cereal bowl.   
   
"Well, you _are_ spoiling me this morning Gladys: first a new toothbrush and now brillo-pad surprise."  
   
Sam turned a page of the newspaper. "You said you _liked_ Shredded Wheat," he pointed out, "but there are Cornflakes if you'd prefer."  
   
"I'd rather have a bacon buttie."  
   
"I am _not_ making you a bacon buttie."  
   
"Well, if I'd known having a lodger was this much fun, I'd have done it years ago."   
   
Sam stood up, carrying his dishes over to the sink. "You don't want a lodger; you want a bloody skivvy," he muttered. He turned back to discover that Gene had commandeered the paper.   
   
Sam sighed.  
   
"Eat your brillo-pad; we're going to be late for work."  
   
   
***  
   
**Act 2 - Afternoon: 'Well this is a fine mess you've got me into.'**  
  
**2:37pm**  
   
Gene regained consciousness slowly; gradually becoming aware of the shabby room and his position tied to a chair. And the fact that someone else seemed to be tied back-to-back with him.   
   
He tried to turn his head and groaned at the thumping pain. Oh, yes, that was right – charging into the warehouse, gun at the ready…but there must have been someone behind him, because that was the last he remembered.  
   
"You're awake, then," came an irritatingly familiar voice.  
   
"Glad to see your powers of observation haven't deserted you, Tyler." Gene croaked out.  
   
"What the hell were you thinking?"  
   
"Funny; I was going to ask you the same thing."  
   
"I wanted to ask the McMillans some probing questions about some fenced goods. What's your excuse?"  
   
"Probably something along the lines of 'lets see if I can save my stupid DI's scrawny arse'."  
   
"Yeah. Thanks for that. Because that worked out really well, didn't it."  
   
"You're not dead yet – what are you complaining about."  
   
"How about the fact that I'm tied to a chair. As are you. And the bad guys might be returning any moment to deliver the coup de grâce."  
   
"Good – I'm not overly fond of French grub but I'm bloody starving, what with that pathetic excuse for a breakfast you served up."  
   
"For God's sake! We might be staring death in the face and all you can do is make stupid jokes about your stomach!"  
   
Gene made a scoffing sound. "We are _not_ staring death in the face. I know the McMillans: they wouldn't dare finish us off."  
   
"Well that makes me feel _so_ much better."  
 

 

***  
   
**2:39pm**  
   
"So, what _is_ for tea, then?"  
   
"For God's sake."  
   
"Trust me: we'll be home in time for it. What's on the menu today?"  
   
"I thought you were sick of the 'strange muck' I cook up?"  
   
Gene could almost hear the finger wiggle Sam would have made had his hands been free. He twitched his shoulders in the best approximation of a shrug he could manage.  
   
"Well. It's not that bad. Once you get used to it," he mused, before huffing out a laugh. "A bit like you, really."  
   
"Fine. Tell you what, then: _you_ get in the kitchen and cook the team dinner next month, and _I'll_ waltz around pouring out the drinks."  
   
"Hmm. Don't suppose any of them would turn up for hoops on toast. Anyway, I thought you liked cooking?"  
   
"Yes, well I do. It's just…nice to be appreciated."  
   
"Sometimes, Sam, I think you're in the wrong line of work altogether."  
    
   
***  
**2:58pm**  
   
"Gene? What are you doing?"  
   
"I've got an itchy nose."  
   
"Well stop twisting about. My ropes get tighter when you do that."  
   
"This is all your fault, anyway."  
   
"How do you figure that?"  
   
"Because the McMillans are mixed up with the forgery gang we've been keeping an eye on."  
   
"Not that stupid dawn raid plan you cooked up – I told you that was a bad idea."  
   
"Well, it's a bit of a moot point, isn't it, since you waltzed in here and put the wind up them!"  
   
"I didn't know they were involved with the forgery ring! I only came here to question them about receiving stolen goods."  
   
"Oh, that's all right, then. And here's me thinking you'd rushed in without any evidence."  
   
"I can't believe _you're_ accusing _me_ of that, you hypocritical bastard!"  
   
"And I can't believe that after all the 'proper procedure' crap you rant on about, you still act like the Lone Ranger instead of my Deputy Dawg!"  
   
Sam sighed. "This is why we need regular communication meetings, because clearly if I'd known they had anything to do with the forgery ring, I would have talked to you before I came here."  
   
Gene grunted. "Yeah, well. Much good that does us now."  
   
"Yeah, well you didn't have to come running in here after me."  
   
"Believe me, Gladys, right now I wish I hadn't bothered."  
   
   
***  
   
**3:41pm**  
   
"Ray and Chris might eventually work out where we are."  
   
Gene snorted. "Doubt those two could find their own arses in a power cut."  
   
"Chris is getting better."  
   
"What at, picking his nose?"  
   
"Well, what about that case last week?"  
   
"The one with the pet shop? I'd hardly call that an unqualified success – more like 'Animal Magic' what with all those bloody hamsters running around the station…"  
   
"No, the one with the window cleaners. Chris was the one who worked out that they were the common denominator in that series of house burglaries."  
   
"Hmpf."   
   
"I honestly think that you should let him give that presentation at the county force conference next month."   
   
"I'd rather you did it."  
   
"Yes, but I can do that sort of thing in my sleep. It will be good experience for Chris."   
   
"And what about Ray?"  
   
"Well, I suppose we could just change the title from 'Modern Policing' to 'How to get a blagger to confess in three easy punches'…"  
   
"He's not _that_ bad, and-- What _are_ you doing, Gladys?"  
   
"I'm trying to see if I can work my hand free."  
   
"And?"  
   
"I can't."  
   
"Then pack it in: you're cutting off what little remains of my circulation."  
   
"We can't just sit here!"  
   
"I don't see that we have much choice. I suppose if we both rocked side-to-side at the same time we could probably manage to tip ourselves over, but I can't say that sounds like much of an improvement on our current position."  
   
"It might be better than just waiting here to die."  
   
"I keep telling you, they aren't going to kill us. Their old man wasn't a killer, and I don't believe his sons are, either."  
   
"How do you know their father?"  
   
"Put him away for counterfeiting and resisting arrest."  
   
Sam groaned.  
   
"Oh, come on, it could be worse."  
   
Sam gave a laugh. "Now that you mention it, yes it could – after all, if we die at least I don't have to live with you anymore."  
   
"What's wrong with living with me?"  
   
"Oh, nothing much - apart from me having to do all the cleaning and washing, and the fact that your idea of haute cuisine is opening a can of baked beans."  
   
"Bloody hell, it's like being married but without the sex. No wait - it's _exactly_ like being married."  
   
"No wonder your wife left. I'm just astonished she stayed with you for so long. I've only lived with you for a month and I'm already on the verge of stabbing you with a butter knife and burying your body under the patio."  
   
Gene sniffed. "Bloody charming, that is."  
   
   
***  
   
**4:06pm**  
   
"Tyler, are you holding my hand?"  
   
"No. It's just that if I interlace my fingers with yours then it takes some of the pressure off my wrists."  
   
"Oh. So there's nothing funny about it?"  
   
"You really are ridiculously homophobic, aren't you?"  
   
"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Smarty-pants. You're gay and I don't hate you."  
   
"Wha….?"  
   
"Well, that's not strictly true I suppose, because right now I _do_ hate you, but it has nothing to do with you being a big poofter."  
   
"But I'm…"  
   
"It's because you're an annoying twat."  
   
"Hang on: I'm _not_ gay--"  
   
"Oh, is that right. And I suppose you're not an annoying twat, either."  
   
"--because in case it has escaped your notice, I like women."  
   
"Which women? The only one you've shagged since you got here was that tart Joni, and she had to cuff you to the bed first."  
   
"You bastard!"  
   
"Maybe. But I'm right, aren't I?"  
   
"I _do_ like women. I just happen to…well, I haven't met anyone here who…oh, never mind."  
   
"What about Flashknickers? She was definitely on for it if you'd just made an effort."  
   
"We agreed to be just friends, if you must know. Anyway, leave Annie out of this."  
   
"Fine."  
   
"Fine!"  
   
   
***  
   
   
**4:07pm**  
   
"So, you're not gay, then, is that right?"  
   
"For God's sake!"  
   
   
***  
   
**4:11pm**  
   
   
"Why _did_ you ask me to move in with you?"  
   
"Told you: wanted a lodger."  
   
"An indentured slave, more like."  
   
"Look, you needed somewhere to live, what with that cesspit place of yours being sold, and I've agreed to pay Vera for half the house, so I thought a bit of rent would come in handy."  
   
"And someone to do your cooking and cleaning would be even handier."  
   
"Oh, come on – we go out for dinner sometimes. Anyway, I didn't ask you to do any of it."  
   
"Oh, so I suppose it's _my_ fault."  
   
"Well yes, some of it _is_ your fault, Gladys, because you did exactly what you usually do: charge in and try to take over. I normally take my washing down to Shirley at the laundrette who does the service washes and irons my shirts. And Betty Wilson comes in once a week to do the house."  
   
"What?! Why didn't you tell me this before now?"  
   
"You didn't ask. You just assumed I was completely incapable and that you were doing me a huge favour, you smug git, so I just let you get on with it….Oi! Stop banging your head against mine, that bloody well hurts!"  
   
"You better hope you're wrong about the McMillans, Gene, because if they don't kill you I just might."  
   
   
***  
   
**4:13pm**  
   
"And the garden?"  
   
"Burt from next door."  
   
   
***  
   
**4:15pm**  
   
"Bastard."  
   
   
***  
   
**4:23pm**  
   
   
"So, you are absolutely sure you aren't gay?"  
   
Sam sighed. "We're back to this, are we. Why are you so sure that I am?"  
   
"What, you mean aside from the ridiculously tight trousers you insist on wearing and your various and sundry nancy-boy ways?"  
   
"An elegantly crafted argument as usual, Gene, but hardly conclusive."  
   
"No. But that gay porn mag stashed under your bed is a bit of a give-away."  
   
"You bastard!"  
   
"Do you know, I think you're starting to repeat yourself, DI Tyler. And stop twisting about like that, you'll do yourself an injury – not to mention me."  
   
"You complete and utter--"  
   
"_Ssshhh!_ I can hear someone coming…"  
   
   
***  
   
**Act 3 - Evening: 'Some detective you turned out to be.'**  
  
**8:23pm**  
   
Gene handed Sam a glass of scotch and slumped down tiredly onto the sofa next to him.  
   
"Said we'd be home in time for tea."  
   
Sam took the proffered glass with a grunt. "Only because Ray and Chris happened to spot the Cortina on their way to the chippy."  
   
"Yeah; I suppose we were lucky they weren't in the mood for Indian." Gene crossed his legs and rested his arm along the back of the sofa.  
   
Sam raised his glass. "Well, here's to having been saved by the Chuckle Brothers from a terrible fate."  
   
"We weren't in any danger of dying, you daft git."  
   
"No, I meant being tied to you all afternoon." Sam took a gulp of scotch and then blinked. "Although it wasn't that different from normal, now that I come to think of it." He sighed, leaning back in his seat.  
   
Gene was silent, swilling the amber liquid around in his glass. He cleared his throat.  
   
"Look, Sam, I'm sorry about not being honest with you earlier."  
   
Sam shot him a narrow-eyed glare which gave way to a wry, half-reluctant smile. "That's all right; I suppose I deserved it. Does that mean I'm off housekeeping duties from now on?"  
   
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'll get Betty to come back. But that's not what I meant." Gene seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but then paused, taking a large mouthful of scotch before continuing. "I'm sorry for poking about in your room."  
   
"Ah. And so you should be – snooping around should be left to the professionals."   
   
Sam quirked a smile but Gene didn't respond, seeming lost in thought.  
   
Sam's expression turned wary. "Don't tell me: you feel a bit funny about sharing a house with me now that you've discovered I like men."  
   
"Nah; I knew that before I suggested you moved in. Well, maybe not 'knew' exactly, but I was fairly sure."  
   
"Oh. So you aren't bothered about sharing a house with a self-confessed bisexual?"  
   
"I'm not bothered if you aren't."  
   
Sam gave a laugh. "Well, no, it doesn't bother me. I've known for years how I felt, and in Hyde it's not considered that unusual, so…" He trailed off, seeing Gene staring at him. "What?"  
   
"I don't think you quite understood me, Sam."  
   
Sam's brow furrowed as he mentally replayed Gene's words.   
   
Oh.  
 

_Oh_.  
   
"You mean you…you like blokes? But you're always ogling women…tits in a jumper, pinching bums, that sort of thing."  
   
Gene tilted his head back, looking rather amused. "All this time you've known me – nearly a year and a half now - how many women have I been involved with?"  
   
"Excluding your wife…"  
   
"You can _definitely_ exclude her."  
   
"…um, well, none that I know of, but you _could_ have been."  
   
"What, I could have been shagging my way round Manchester's lonely housewife brigade in my copious spare time?"  
   
"Maybe not _all_ of them, but I'm sure you could have found one who was mad or blind - preferably both."  
   
"Ha bloody ha. Anyway, by your own argument, there's nowt wrong with fancying a bit of toad instead of the hole for a change."  
   
Sam gaped at him. Gene shook his head, his expression a mixture of affection and exasperation.  
   
"What do I spend my spare time doing, you twonk?"  
   
Sam puffed out a breath, only peripherally aware that Gene's arm now seemed to be lying across his shoulders.  
   
"Well, when you're not busy fitting up criminals, you're generally at the pub. Or having drinks with me. Or having dinner with me…"   
   
He trailed off again, meeting Gene's gaze.   
   
Sam swallowed.   
   
"Oh God: we've been going out all this time and I've never noticed."  
   
Gene shrugged modestly. "Well, I have been a perfect gentleman--"   
   
He gave Sam an exaggerated leer.  
   
"--up until now."  
   
Gene squeezed his shoulder and Sam was torn between grinning and rolling his eyes. "I don't suppose it has occurred to you that I mightn't fancy you?"  
   
"Not for a second." Gene flashed him a smug grin. "You've moved in with me, haven't you?"  
   
Sam grinned back, but shook his head, half disbelieving. "This must be the most bizarre seduction I've ever seen: you shove me around at work, argue all the time, call me girls' names and expect me to clean up after you..."  
   
Gene's grin widened. "And you get your punches in first, argue back, call me a Neanderthal, and I'll ring Betty first thing in the morning."  
   
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Sam finally started to laugh.  
   
"Oh, God: it's a match made in heaven."   
   
Gene moved a little closer, and Sam suddenly sobered.  
   
"Well, apart from one thing."  
   
Gene paused, uncertain. "What's that?"  
   
"We seem to have gone right to the boring old married bit and skipped the hot monkey sex stage." He broke into a grin again, nudging his knee against Gene's.  
   
"Terrible oversight, that." Gene agreed as he leaned in. "Still, better late than never."  
   
   
END  
 


End file.
